


Glad to Hear You're Coming

by Icarus (Slickarus)



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bread, Friendship, No relationships except for Moritz/Breadman, One Shot, Road Trip, Some like emotional angst because wendla and moritz are characters with a lot of it, and Wendla/friends that love and support her, farmer's market and craft fair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 05:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11571819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slickarus/pseuds/Icarus
Summary: “I’m going to drive five hours to the Washington County Farmer’s Market and Craft Fair to get the best bread in the world. Do you want to come?”ORMoritz tries to cheer up his friend in the best way he knows how - with bread and a long-ass road trip.





	Glad to Hear You're Coming

**Author's Note:**

> I realized I've really underserved Wendla and I wanted to explore her character a little more. But then I was inspired by farmers markets and decided to add my best boy Moritz and then all this happened. The title actually comes from Super Trouper by ABBA.

Getting up early had never been Moritz’s strong suit, okay? He had so much trouble falling asleep most nights that he needed to pad his rest with extra hours on the morning end. He tried to schedule his classes as late as possible so that he could put all of his getting-up-early energy into days that really mattered.

Like Saturday.

Saturday was the first day of the season for the Washington County Farmer’s Market and Craft Fair, where the Breadman would be. The Breadman showed up at seven, when the market opened, sold out, and then disappeared until the closing day of the season.

The Breadman also made the best bread in the entire goddamned world, and Moritz went every single year to buy four loaves of his walnut bread.

Unfortunately, the Washington County Farmer’s Market and Craft Fair was a five hour drive from Moritz’s college. Not a problem, he just had to wake up at one in the morning so that he could drive with time to spare so that he wouldn’t miss the Breadman. He’d done it twice last year, and he’d done it this fall, on the closing day, so he wasn’t worried at all.

He was just extremely excited.

Which made it hard to fall asleep at eight, like he forced himself to, but he managed to get a few hours asleep before his alarm clock jolted him awake (his roommate, thankfully, hadn’t gone to sleep yet) and he quickly got dressed and triple-checked that he had enough money for the trip and for the bread (the Breadman only accepts cash). He waved goodbye to his roommate, jogged down the stairs, and pushed open the back door to the parking lot.

He wasn’t expecting to see someone on the concrete steps. They weren’t smoking, and they probably weren’t waiting for anybody (they would have gone to the front doors to do that). They were just lying on their side on the top step, knees tucked in towards their chest. Were they sleeping? Drunk? Should Moritz be worried? They had flinched when he’d opened and closed the door, so that was a good sign that they were at least alive.

Moritz stepped over the person gently because, well, if he didn’t leave in five minutes, he would be entering some tight timing on seeing the Breadman. As much as he liked to be a good citizen, he liked bread a little bit more. He took a look back at the lying down person, though, and recognized the face even though it was obscured by dark hair hanging sideways across it.

“Wendla? What are you doing?” Wendla blinked up at him and recognition dawned on her face.

“Hi, Moritz.” She sat up, her dark sweater pooling around her, and pushed some of the hair out of her eyes. In the yellow light coming from the dorm, Moritz thought she looked hollow, like a skeleton.

“Are you okay?” She shrugged her shoulders. As much as Moritz wanted to press, he also realized that someone lying outside on the steps probably didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart. Still, she looked so distant that he wanted to do  _ something _ to help.

“I’m going to drive five hours to the Washington County Farmer’s Market and Craft Fair to get the best bread in the world.” If she was surprised by his answer, it didn’t show on her face. “Do you want to come?”

“Really?” Moritz nodded.

“I have to leave right now, though. You can sleep in the car, if you want.” A smile started to show on her empty face, like curtains that shifted to let in a sliver of light. She stood up, bracing herself on the railing. Moritz instinctively reached to help her up, but she pulled away from his hand.

“Let’s go.”

For the first three hours, Moritz didn’t know whether Wendla had fallen asleep or was just being quiet. She was lying on her side again, this time on the passenger seat, with her face towards the window. Moritz didn’t really mind, though. He liked being alone with the road this time of day, where there were big trucks racing by and orange lights outside of the houses that he passed until he hit the highway and was bunched in by dark trees, and later corn fields.

At around four, the radio came on, and he turned to see Wendla sitting up in her seat, turning the dial.

“I didn’t know whether I was dreaming this or not,” she said as she adjusted her seat into the upright position.

“I hope you’re not, because then I’m dreaming it, too,” Moritz kept his eyes on the road like a good driver. “At least it’s a good dream.” Wendla frowned a bit and kept scanning the radio, trying to find a station that wasn’t riddled with static. “There might be a CD in there,” Moritz pressed a button and seconds later, Dancing Queen started playing through his speakers.

“I love ABBA!”

“Me too. I mean, obviously. This  _ is _ my car.”

“How long have we been driving?”

“We left campus around one.”

“You said it was a five hour drive? Or did I imagine that?”

“No, it’s five hours. I’m going to have to stop for gas soon, though. Maybe breakfast.”

“I thought you said we were getting bread.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be getting the Breadman’s bread on an empty stomach, or I’ll eat it all too fast.”

“Who’s the Breadman?” So Moritz told her and she smiled.

They pulled into a gas station after another half hour or so on the road of listening to ABBA and looking at corn fields.

“Do you want to get some breakfast while I pump?” Moritz offered, handing her his wallet. Wendla looked over at the convenience store, where there were a few other early risers.

“Um, I’ll wait for you.” Moritz nodded and after filling up the tank, they got breakfast sandwiches together, and Wendla offered to drive the next leg. “Since you invited me, and all.”

After breakfast, Wendla seemed much more awake (and more like her usual self, Moritz thought). She hummed along to the songs and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, and Moritz kept checking his phone to make sure they’d arrive in time for the Breadman.

Eventually they got off the highway, and Moritz became more and more excited as he began to recognize the buildings and landmarks that meant they were getting closer to the marketplace. He started to point them out to Wendla while telling her when to turn.

“Did you grow up around here?”

“Not really. My family lives about an hour away, but my grandparents used to live nearby, so we’d go to the market when we visited them in the summer. They’re the ones that told us about the Breadman, and ever since they did we would make the trip up every time to see him.”

“He must be some old guy.”

“Yeah, he was, but then a couple years ago his nephew or whatever started coming. He’s like our age, but it’s still the same bread.” Moritz cupped a hand next to his mouth and fake-whispered: “between you and me, I think the new Breadman’s bread is actually a little bit better.”

At about six-forty-five they pulled into the gravel parking lot that was reserved for the Washington County Farmer’s Market and Craft Fair. To Moritz’s delight, there were only a few other cars. “Way less than this time last year.”

They waited against the trunk of Moritz’s car, watching as a few vendors set up their tents and tables. “The food types are usually here first, see? But it’s only March, so there’s not too many. Even for a grand opening.”

“Do you ever get anything else?” Moritz rubbed the back of his neck.

“Usually just the bread. But we can definitely look around after, since we came all this way.”

“That would be nice,” Wendla murmured.

At 6:59 exactly, a blue van pulled into the vendor lot and Moritz hopped off the car with a start.

“That’s him!” A young man, like Moritz said, got out of the van and started setting up his table behind and stacking loaves and loaves of bread. At seven, one of the market attendants opened the gates to the vendor area, and Moritz practically ran across the grass, with Wendla trailing close behind.

“Good morning,” he said to the Breadman. The Breadman looked up at him and smiled (Moritz forgot how cute the new Breadman was).

“Moritz, right?”

“You know my name?” Moritz blushed.

“You’re here every time, how could I forget?”

“I’m sure you see a lot of people.”

“Hey, buddy, you’re holding up the line,” a man called. Sure enough, a line of several customers had formed behind Moritz and Wendla.

“Okay, I’ll take four loaves of the walnut, and uh, Wendla, do you want anything?” Wendla looked at the table.

“What do you recommend?” She asked the Breadman. The woman behind her in line groaned, but the Breadman seemed unfazed.

“The baguettes are the most popular, but my favorite is the challah.” He tossed a wink at Moritz. “The walnut’s pretty good as well.”

“Okay, I’ll take…” Wendla counted on her fingers, like she was doing math in her head. “Four loaves of the challah.” Before Moritz could mention that he hadn’t planned on  _ four _ loaves of bread being added to his already tall bread order, Wendla pulled bills out of her own wallet. Despite the cash transactions, the Breadman wrote up a receipt (probably for his own records), and handed it to Moritz along with two bags full of the loaves.

When they stepped away from the table to make room for the other customers, Moritz nearly dropped his bag of bread.

“What is it?”

“Look,” Moritz showed Wendla the receipt, which had a string of numbers along the bottom that was definitely not the price. Well, the price was there, but so was the Breadman’s number, along with two xs and the name  _ Otto _ . Wendla grinned.

“Moritz, the Breadman likes you! Think of all the bread you could get out of this. You should call him.”

“Right now?”

“No, later. Right now we need to eat some of this bread.” They walked back to Moritz’s car, and tore into one of each of their loaves. The walnut had never tasted better, but Moritz politely offered Wendla some, and in return she let him have some of her challah. (He made a mental note to add challah to his order in the fall).

After the equivalent of too many slices each, they locked the rest of the bread in his trunk (so no bread-jealous customers could get it) and walked back towards the Washington County Farmer’s Market and Craft Fair to look at the other wares. Besides the meager March produce, they saw various crocheted goods and painted things, jewelry, inferior baked goods, and lots of flowers. Wendla bought a huge bouquet of irises, and Moritz found a mint plant that the nice woman promised him could grown in his dorm room. After a while of walking around, they decided they had seen enough and should drive back to school. The Breadman had already left, so Wendla made Moritz send him a text that said ‘hey this is moritz’ “So he doesn’t have to wait,” Wendla said. “That way he can make the first move if he wants to.”

“It’s probably no use,” Moritz said, double-checking that their plants wouldn’t fall over on the trip back. “School is five hours away.”

“But you’re closer in the summers. Who knows.” Wendla slid into the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt.

As they started to drive away from Washington County, Moritz realized that he didn’t know what to talk about. At the fair, they’d been able to make jokes based on the crafts and things, but out on the open road there wasn’t really any material to comment on. He didn’t really want to sit in silence, especially since Wendla was his friend and he didn’t want to seem cold or anything.

“Have you ever taken anyone else to the, uh,”

“Washington County Farmer’s Market and Craft Fair? No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a long drive, even back home it was a long drive. I didn’t think anyone would ever want to come.”

“What made you ask me?” Moritz could feel Wendla looking at him. He wanted to tell her the truth, but he was worried about ruining the next four and a half hours of roadtime.

“You didn’t look right. Wait, that’s not what I mean. It was like…” he avoided looking to see how she was reacting. “It was like you weren’t there. Well, you were, obviously, but  _ you _ were, I mean, uhh,” how was he supposed to explain this? “Sometimes,” he sighed. “Sometimes when I get really stressed or sad or whatever, I feel like I’m, uh, trapped in my own body. Like I can feel too much and everything’s coming at me from all directions and there’s nothing I can do about it. But you looked like the opposite. Like, uh, like your body was there, lying on the steps, but  _ you _ weren’t.”

“Where was I?” Wendla asked quietly.

“It’s like you, uh, weren’t there at all. Like you didn’t exist. And I wanted to try and bring you back, so that you wouldn’t be so disconnected like that.” He tapped his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. “It’s stupid. Would it be better if I said you looked sad and I wanted to cheer you up?”

“No, the other one feels more right.” Wendla looked down at her hands in her lap. “I went out for some, uh, air, but then I felt like, if I could lay still enough, I might be able to stop existing altogether. I don’t know how long I was lying there.”

“I think I get it. I mean, obviously I don’t get it, because I’m not you, but I mean-”

“It’s okay, Moritz.” Wendla smiled to herself. “Thanks for taking me today. I feel a lot better now.”

“I guess that’s the best we can do, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And maybe tonight, if you feel like that again, you can eat some of that bread. Or, you know, call and we can talk or something.” Wendla pulled her knees in towards her chest.

“Can I be honest? I liked it better when we weren’t talking about this.”

“Right, of course. Hey, I’ve got some more CDs in the door, if you wanted to pick one. Or we could listen to ABBA Gold again.”

“Done.” Wendla pressed the play button on the stereo and the piano intro to Dancing Queen filled the car for a second time.

For lunch, they stopped at a different farmers market and found a quiche to split (as well as some fresh lemonade - Moritz’s favorite), and they ate in a sunny spot while listening to some local band play.

“Between you and me,” Wendla said, surveying the market. “I think the Washington County Farmer’s Market and Craft Fair is significantly better.” Moritz grinned. He did too.

They got back to campus (after another gas station stop and a separate bathroom break) before dinner, and Moritz helped Wendla carry her flowers and bread back to her dorm room. She then proceeded to help him carry his mint plant while he carried his bread so that he wouldn’t accidentally drop it.

“I need to catch up on some sleep,” Wendla said after surprising herself with a massive yawn. “Thank you for today, Moritz.” He smiled.

“Thank  _ you. _ I learned that it’s way more fun to drive five hours to a farmers market with a friend.” Wendla waved and walked down the hallway towards the stairwell.

Alright, Moritz thought. Time for some more of that walnut bread.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! I love hearing feedback in the forms of comments/kudos, I take prompts, and you can always come say hi on Tumblr [(main) ](http://zartharn.tumblr.com/) [(theater-specific)](https://thereinkiss.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter (@slickarus)](https://twitter.com/slickarus)


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